Robert (Bob) Arthur Woolley

This story is shared by the Trust with kind permission from Pete Colley, Curator, Wickenby Museum. Additional information from Christina Elliott, (niece) and Timothy Woolley, (nephew) of Bob Wolley

Remembering Robert (Bob) Arthur Woolley, Flight Sergeant, pilot, aged 20, son of Jack and Emily Woolley, of Hildenborough, Kent. He was killed on his 11th mission, airborne 22:22 on 22 Jun 1944 from RAF Wickenby to bomb rail facilities in Reims. His aircraft crashed at Belloy (Oise), a village set in wooded countryside 6 km SE of Tricot.

I always remember Dad saying how Bob couldn’t even drive a car but there he was flying a plane! My father was 8 years younger and his brother, Bob, was Dad’s hero growing up, especially so with this big brother going to Canada to train how to fly.

Bob was a truly gifted artist and I was fortunate to see some of his amazing artwork in my grandparents’ home and I have noticed that other members of his family carry that gift on.

The crew were missing in action for a while and at Belloy, where their plane came down, the wonderful people of Belloy made a display of the letters exchanged at this time between the families to see if anyone had heard news, along with photographs of the families and other pieces of memorabilia. How wonderful for us in future years to be able to visit and see our crew come to life in front of our eyes.

When they found out what had happened to the crew, my grandfather and father visited Belloy several times, hosted by the Mayor’s family. We were fortunate enough ourselves to meet the oldest daughter, Lucy, who regaled us with amazing insight into the events at that time and stories of my father and grandfather when they visited Belloy themselves, including one of a duck given to them to eat but, being such softies, they took that duck all the way back to Kent on a train, in a box, and it happily lived out its life in my grandparents’ garden.

That fateful day, Lucy told us that the villagers heard a terrible noise and, on looking up to the sky, they saw an English plane (Lancaster Bomber), clearly in trouble. It is believed that the crew deliberately flew the plane beyond the village, sacrificing their own lives in order to spare this French village. In spite of being under German occupation, the villagers from Belloy and two nearby villages ran into the field where they heard the crash and saw that the plane had come down in a massive crater, leaving debris of every kind scattered across the field. The Germans were powerless to stop them because of “people power” taking control of events. They collected all the parts and buried what remained and kept many of the plane parts, including the propellor, which was placed in the crater to respectfully mark their loss over many ensuing poignant moments. For years and years afterwards parts were still being found when ploughing.

At that time, the villagers brought red (poppies), white (field daisies) and blue (cornflowers) to lay in the crater and for the wreath at a funeral and burial ceremony which they held in the Church and graveyard at Belloy.

Despite never personally knowing my Uncle Bob my son was named Robert in his honour. He says he has big shoes to fill.

We were fortunate enough to be able to visit Belloy, along with other members of the crews’ families, where we were able to introduce ourselves and Uncle Bob’s great nieces and great nephews to Lucy. She had wonderful stories to share with us all.

The citizens of Belloy honoured our crew members by naming a tree-lined walk leading to the field “Lancaster Way” during a wonderful, typically French, ceremony, with marching band.

Years later and with great kindness, thanks to the citizens of Belloy, my family were able to reunite my father with his brother by spreading the ashes of my father and mother in the spot where Bob ended his days. Bob had truly proved himself to be Dad’s hero by the sacrifice the crew made that fateful day. And the propellor was once more there, in the crater!

With thanks to the people of Belloy.